Robin makes delightfully uncouth crafts which she sells on Etsy, and after Twitter-flirting with her for many moons I finally gave her my credit card information. Here is what I bought:

Jeff calls me PB. It does not stand for peanut butter, but rather something far more nefarious that you would probably not want to spread on a cracker.

It was supposed to be a Christmas gift for Jeff, but since I suffer from a serious medical condition known as premature unwrapulation, I gave it to him right away. It now hangs in a place of honor, right next to the bathroom, which is I'm sure how Robin would have wanted it.

But!

Robin also gave me some amazing gifts, packed in a lovely shoebox that once housed some charming house frau clogs. Like this block of awesome (no, really, that is its official name):

Along with some whorish Hallmark cards and a Twitter ornament!

We haven't gotten our tree (whom I have pre-named Firdinand) yet, but I'm sure he'll appreciate an ornament made of his own flesh.

There are just 19 shopping days left until Jesus' fake birthday, people, so if there is anyone in your life who would appreciate a tender acrylic painting of boxer briefs, tell Santa to get his rosy red ass over to Robin's store, stat.

P.S. I have not abandoned Curmudgeon of the Week! There's one coming up and I'm working my way through the list. Not that you asked, but because I'm defensive.